Once Upon A Time: Metaphoric Lycanthropy and Pain of the Heart
by Lucretia Debrev
Summary: The Huntsman (Graham) has heard stories of what the Evil Queen (Regina) does to those who betray her...but he never expected to be left alive for the purposes she has in store for him. Is his pity for her real, or is it simply the Queen's influence on his heart? (NOTE: I made this while was on a 4 hour car ride and I've never made a OUAT story before, so lease don't judge. Enjoy!)


"What are you going to do to me?" He envisioned having his limbs torn apart, or maybe being bled out. But those ideas were banished from his mind as the Queen kissed him long and hard, eyes closed. He could only stare at her features. The feature he caught was, oddly, of her elbow, no perhaps her arm. He realized how small she was, how beautiful she was in a dark way. Then she pulled away, a murderous look in her eye. "You're mine now, my pet. And this is your cage." She motioned to a wooden box that slid into a panel in a wall. "And if you ever try to run, escape...all I have to do is squeeze..." She squeezed his heart in her hand, and he fell to his knees in pain. It wads as if his chest was on fire, as if all of his ribs had been broken and were now sticking out of him. And every breath was sharp and intense. Breathing in meant breathing out and it hurt so much he assumed he may as well stop, if only to stop the pain. "Guards! Take him to my bed chamber!" The guards dragged him down a dark corridor, to the Queen's bed chambers. The guards tossed him on the ground before he could try to fight them to leave. Why had she let him live? Was it to embarrass him? Yes that must have been the reason. He, the Huntsman, had after all been raised by wolves. That was it then. She'd heard of him, his reputation as someone who was too loyal and kind. A dog. And what did dogs do? They obeyed. That's it then. I'm doomed to be her servant until she decides to kill me, he thought. He looked at the Queen's bed chamber. The ceiling was large and the bed itself, grand. He'd never slept in a bed so large. Come to think of it, he'd never slept in a bed with a mattress, period. The bed was made, and the drapes were parted slightly. He couldn't help it. He wanted to see what the bedspread or quilt looked like. The wolves' cave said a lot about them, what would the Queen's bedspread say about her? Instead of going to her bed, he ended up just wandering around her room. He suddenly felt very tired, the pain he'd felt earlier was numbing. Why was he here? Why had he spared the girl? What was so compelling about her that he felt he couldn't kill her like any other beast? He collapsed by the Queen's bed. He couldn't tell if he was blinking or the candles were flickering. He loved how the flames danced on the stone walls, he almost felt at home, as if he was back in the cave with the wolves. "Wine?" He started. He had not heard the Queen come into the room. "I...I've never tasted it before." "Oh well, in that case, you must." She handed him the glass without asking whether or not he wanted it. But he did. He didn't want to think about having to touch a woman that was not his wife...someone that wasn't his. "You can call me Regina." "Alright...what," he cleared his throat, "is it you want me to do?" Regina's eyes looked him over, and silence seemed to suffocate the room. There was ravenous glint in her eyes, as if her iris was a light with sudden, genuine passion. "Wait here-no. Turn around." He did. He heard her wardrobe door open and close, and the ruffle of cloth. "You can look now." She was dressed in a black, lace robe. Then she walked up to him, and began to unbutton his shirt. She took his hand, and placed on her shoulder, then the other on the robe's sash. "You're shaking. Have you never held a woman before?" "I haven't." "There's no need to be...afraid." It was barely a whisper, his hand had somehow moved to her cheek. "You're...shorter than me..." They were so close to each other he could feel her breath. "What?" "I said..." He forgot what he'd originally said. "You're so beautiful, it hurts to breathe-" He didn't finish his sentence, he kissed her, eyes closed. Her eyes,non the other hand, were wide open. The kiss was intoxicating and succulent. He slammed her against the stone wall and she groaned. She wrapped her leg around his. He ran his fingers through her soft, black hair. Her skin was also soft, not rough or tainted. Not entirely white, like the girl in the forest, her lips not as red, but as he compared the two, the girl in the forest seemed almost grotesque in how red her lips were, and how fine her skin was. His fingers massaged her back, and she ran her fingers around his neck and through his hair. Then she moved away from the wall, breathless, grinning, and motioned towards the bed. He wanted to feel what it was like to be on a bed with a mattress, but she took that privilege from him. He was suddenly annoyed that she had, and he held her down and began to kiss her neck. She began to laugh at the inability to do anything. His lust grew to hunger and he kissed her again. Her skin tasted salty, her mouth tasted bitter like the wine. He realized the effect it bestowed on his usually keen senses. The candles seemed to muffle her figure in a beautiful way. Then he became angry. The wine, the soft bed, and the list he felt toward her were all a lie. None of it was real. Then an idea came to him. There was one instrument he could use, something she might even like, but it was worth a try. Fear. "If this is how you want to play it, then let's play." He took the sash from her robe and intertwined her hands and the bed post. He saw her eyes go from pleasure to panic but only for a moment. "What are you-" "I raised by wolves remember? It's not in my nature to be gentle." She smiled at him and understood, "Now you're getting it." She then unfastened the robe's sash, but still managed to have her hands tied. He thought to himself, How odd. What is the point of getting free of the bed post if you're hands are still tied? Why exchange one prison for another? She put her hands around his neck and for brief moment he was afraid she'd strangle him. The sash against the back of his neck, her hands cupped around his face, he kissed her once more. In the candlelight she looked younger, freer. "Daniel." And she whispered a name. Not his but someone else's. Another man, perhaps she had more than one man in his situation, but he decided it was best not to ask. And then he saw it in her eyes...who ever this Daniel was, he owed her no debt, he was no caged lover. He was the only remaining good in her. And he realized that that was the true reason for his own captivity: he was a distraction from what she'd lost.


End file.
